Swim Season
by KitchenWitch1994
Summary: Kirk manages to convince a very unwilling Spock to try on swimsuits prior to shore leave on a beach, and Spock finds himself struggling to keep his fantasies inside his head. Rated M for MATURE ADULT CONTENT because this is shameless K/S slash.


_This story was originally intended for Spirk Day 2013, which I missed by a week. Consider it now a very late offering._

* * *

**Swim Season**

"Spock."

"No."

"Come on, please?"

"You wonder why I detest shore leave."

"Don't make me make it an order."

Spock huffed and crept out from behind the bathroom door. The swimsuit was indeed unforgiving, baring the Vulcan's pale flesh for all the world to see—so long as "all the world" was just Kirk sitting on the edge of his bed. Nonetheless, it was like Kirk's eyes were burning holes through the little bit of fabric covering Spock's hips.

To say the situation was uncomfortable could well have been the understatement of the century.

Kirk, of course, was oblivious, and let his eyes roam up and down Spock's form. "Very nice," he commented.

Spock's jaw clenched as he tried not to blush. He started to pull the fabric down further onto his thighs in a poor attempt to cover them. "This is the most" –yank— "illogical" –yank— "triviality you have _ever"_ –more vigorous _yank_— "convinced me to participate it."

Kirk reached out and grabbed Spock's wrist. "You'll tear it like that."

Spock ceased, the muscles in his arms tensing. "I would not wish for you to see me in a more indecent state than this."

Kirk chuckled and removed his hand. "Indecent? The time you tried to strangle me in front of your dad was 'indecent,' Spock."

"Then how do you classify this situation?"

Kirk raised his eyebrows, taking his time to muse. "Payback."

Spock shook his head. "I could concoct approximately a thousand different scenarios more appropriately dubbed 'payback,' _Captain._ None of which include forcing me to leave the ship in your company to go swimming."

Kirk rolled his eyes and threw his hands to the ceiling. "Fine, Spock." He proceeded to fall downwards onto the mattress, which let out a _whump_ of padded protest. "You come up with something that counts as payback for my public loss of a poker game against you."

Spock mused for a moment before responding. "Perhaps I could publically lose a game of tri-dimensional chess against you."

The blond snapped his fingers. A look of sudden realization quickly spread across his face—and Spock knew it was the more devious version of an epiphany that was flickering behind the blue eyes. "Better idea."

Spock sighed. _Oh dear._

"Give me those," Kirk demanded, launching out of his supine position at the human equivalent of warp five.

There was no way to control the sharp increase of blood flow coloring his cheeks and, more embarrassingly, everywhere else. "Certainly you don't mean _now,_ Captain?" he asked. Only through a large amount of control did he manage to conceal a certain, peculiar nervous quality from his speech. To be forced into nakedness suddenly before Kirk was—

Kirk waved his hands in a gesture of concession; the thought of nakedness was shifted to the back of Spock's mind. "Alright, change out. But throw it to me as soon as you tear it off."

Spock hurried back into the bathroom and upon shutting the door let loose a quivering shudder. _Take it off._ How, Spock thought furiously, just _how _was it that every phrase James Kirk uttered had to carry some inflection of erotica? That phrase in particular, however truly insipid as it had been, was probably the most problematic of the whole night. It was nothing short of a miracle that Spock managed to hide himself in the bathroom before his erection became painfully obvious.

Which was a problem within itself, Spock admitted as he attempted to peel the swimsuit away from his hardened flesh. It had been a problem since he had discovered he was not heterosexual about four months ago, when he realized precisely what about Uhura he did not enjoy. It was disconcerting and, dare he say it colloquially, _bad_ enough that James Kirk had steadily been worming himself into the corners of Spock's mind reserved for _pon farr_. At least, at such times, Spock was capable of taking appropriate, sensible measures to relieve the mental and physical pressure—measures, Spock noted bitterly, that were becoming all too regular. But when the man of his fantasies was _on his bed, _lying in a temptingly supine position and wearing his most attractive and devious grin, all those sensible measures of quelling desire went out the window.

As did his self-control over his sexual fantasies.

Spock shook himself forcefully, managing at last to remove the chokingly tight swimsuit. He stood there, naked on the tile, and let out a little huff of breath. There had to be something mentally wrong with him that he could find James Kirk at once attractive and annoying, but he was too far gone for medical help—and he would rather commit suicide rather than confide his feelings to Doctor McCoy. Of all the things Spock knew, there was one fact that was irrevocably certain, backed up by several years of blatantly positive data: however fleeting his liaisons, James Kirk was certainly, unchangeably attracted to women, and only to women.

Spock recalled how he had attempted, two months ago, to calculate the chances of Kirk ever being sexually attracted to men based on available data. Such odds were infinitesimal at best, to say nothing of the chances of Kirk being sexually attracted to Spock in return. The memory was just depressing enough to render him blessedly flaccid again.

"You're taking a long time in there, you know!"

Spock jumped and nearly crashed face-first into the floor. Scrambling back to his feet, he whirled at the closed door. "Perhaps you did not adequately learn the value of patience as a child," he snapped back. "These…_pants _are more difficult to pry from one's body than you obviously believe."

"Your hips are obviously too big for them. Just hurry up and get them off!"

Poorly stifling another flush of green, Spock did just that, wrenching the door open only for a second to throw the blasted scrap of clothing as far away from him as possible before slamming the door shut again.

"Thank you!" Kirk called teasingly through the door.

Spock refused to rise to the challenge. Instead he relocated his briefs, replaced them carefully, and replied, in a remarkably level voice, "What do you plan on doing with them, dare I ask?"

"They're clothes, Spock," Kirk chirped. "What do you expect me to do with them?"

As the saying went, Spock couldn't help himself. "Throw them into a raging bonfire and hope the fabric is not flame-retardant?"

Kirk laughed. "Not even close. I'm gonna put them on and show you how it's done."

Spock sighed and stood up. "I shall vacate the restroom, then," he said, reaching for his briefs.

"I'm good."

"Well, what do you expect to use to cover yourself? You know how little space there is in my quarters."

Kirk hummed loudly. "I'll just lie on your bed, I suppose. Cross my fingers and hope no one decides to walk in on me."

It was uncertain whether Spock's heart momentarily stopped or whether it simply sped up so fast he no longer registered its furious pounding. Forgoing his desire to dress, he very carefully and deliberately pinched his left forearm; when the pain registered, he tossed aside the option that he was dreaming. Still, there was no way to know whether Kirk was lying or not. Humans were notorious for pranks, and Kirk was, if nothing else, the pranking sort of human.

Moving very slowly, and keeping himself as far behind the doorframe as possible, he opened the door by about two centimeters and peered out of the crack. Kirk's back was turned towards the bathroom door, and he was still clothed and holding the swimsuit, to Spock's almost palpable relief. Throwing his voice to the wall, Spock called, "You are not serious about forcing yourself into that thing, are you? It was torturous enough for me."

"Your hips are too big, Spock," Kirk replied. "I mean, what size are you anyway, like an extra-large?" He tossed the swimsuit onto the bed and doubled over to undo his shoes.

Spock scoffed. "I cannot be more than four inches larger than you in the hips, Captain. In any case, I recall you saying that was your _old_ swimsuit?"

Kirk shrugged, tugging off his socks. "Really, it's not _that _old. And whatever Bones says about my weight gain is a lie. I haven't gotten _that_ big since the mission started." He shook his head at that, and started to pull his shirt off.

Spock's eyes shot open. He was afraid to breathe now, afraid to break whatever fabrication of time and space that was causing the sight before him. Even from a posterior view, Kirk appeared as perfectly chiseled as one of Michelangelo's statues; his arms especially seemed well-toned as they tugged the black and yellow uniform shirts away from the gently tanned flesh.

"Yes," Spock croaked. "I suppose the doctor's estimates could be inaccurate."

"Damned right they are." Kirk carelessly tossed his shirt aside and turned slightly, flexing his biceps and grinning. Altogether, the image made Spock's stomach feel like it was experiencing the change to warp speed. "I look good."

"Nonetheless," Spock began again, speaking louder than the part of his brain that was roaring assent, "the likelihood that any item of clothing, regardless of purpose, will fit you after untold years of disuse is—"

"I only got it last year," Kirk countered. He broke his showcasing pose with a shrug and began to fumble with—_heaven help me, _Spock thought, although he possessed little belief in an afterlife—the buttons on his pants. "Same time I got refitted for uniform and ship. Those still fit."

The pants fell to the floor, with Kirk bent to assist them on the way down. The resulting view would have elicited a wolf-whistle from anyone even momentarily incapable of self-control, and Spock was dangerously close to such a state. As glorious a sight as Kirk's torso had been, what lay beneath the belt was even more so. Regulatory black boxer briefs hugged the softened angles of Kirk's hips and upper thighs, showcasing could only be described as a perfect posterior. What little clothing left on the man seemed, in Spock's burgeoning imagination, to be bursting at the seams, begging for him to rise and tear them off—

"Tight," Spock uttered, voice husky and almost harsh.

Kirk's profile turned quizzical. "Huh?"

Spock snapped back to his senses and felt an acidic flush of terror course down his throat, practically throwing himself back against the wall to hide from potential discovery. Well, not practically. "I meant to disagree," Spock coughed out, pressing his hand to his chest. "Your shirt does seem tight about the middle, your 'gut,' as you would say."

"Oh, really?"

If Spock's body was not already taut from sexual frustration, it was now from quavering anxiety. Was he imagining again, or was Kirk's voice suddenly closer to the door?

"Well," Kirk continued, "if _my _clothes are tight around my waist, then yours are even worse."

Spock let out a snort. "Pardon me, Captain, but my clothes fit me perfectly. One of us must adhere to regulations—"

"Then tell me why your pants always look a bit…" Kirk paused delicately, and for a moment Spock could picture the blond's tongue flicking out across his lip in thought "…_tight_ on your ass."

That was the precise moment that the door clicked open and Kirk entered, in all his nearly-naked glory. Spock was frozen on the floor, capable only of looking up directly in Kirk's eyes and nowhere else. The pit of the Vulcan's stomach dropped through the floor, sinking with the realization that, yes, he had been discovered, and would probably be subsequently shouted at, as was Kirk's habit when he was angry. And then…

And then, per the most likely scenario, Spock would lose the closest companion he had. Because Kirk and he definitely did _not _share the same sexual orientation. Because Spock's inclinations leaned too close to his captain. Because he was infatuated and foolish and perhaps in love with the impetuous blond.

_He is worth the fight, _Spock thought furiously. He stood as quickly as he was able, backing into the corner of the bathroom for support. "Captain, let me—"

Kirk held out a hand, shaking his head. "Spock, I don't need to hear."

"Captain, please," Spock insisted. "I was—"

"You were watching me undress, Spock."

"And I need to tell you—"

"_Spock."_ Kirk reached out and grabbed Spock by the wrists, pulling them too close together for Spock's comfort. "Listen to me for once, you hard-headed ass."

The Vulcan ground his teeth, but ultimately remained silent. On a whim he looked up at Kirk's face; the blond's eyes were feverishly bright as they returned the gaze, to the point that Spock turned away to avoid their intensity. He wished that he could turn away as easily from Kirk's blood pumping against their pressed skin. "To what am I meant to be listening, Captain?"

"To…to…" Kirk let out an exasperated sigh; his grip on Spock's wrists tightened slightly. "Ugh. Fuck it."

Their mouths collided, but with much less force than Spock could have not anticipated. Kirk's lips were very soft against his, and surprisingly gentle, as though he was waiting for an explosion to come about from kissing his first officer. Indeed, after only a few seconds, Kirk pulled away by a fraction, a nervous puff of breath ghosting between them.

Blood rushed to Spock's face and his remaining sense abandoned him as he pressed his lips very earnestly against Kirk's, even slipping his tongue out to graze the captain's lower lip. Kirk responded with such alacrity that Spock didn't realize that they were on the floor, tongues battling for dominance, until they were right in the middle of it. Everything about Kirk was searing—the heat from his skin, the inside of his mouth, even the taste of him like the spiciest, most addictive chocolate he had ever tasted was so much more intoxicating than he could have ever imagined…

Too much. Too much, too fast. He groaned and forced himself to pull back. "Captain," he panted, realizing too late his vocabulary was failing him. "How?—"

"Wanted you so much," Kirk answered. In lieu of kissing Spock's lips, he redirected, dragging his tongue up Spock's neck. "Needed you."

Spock groaned again. "But when—?"

Tongue went up to ear, nibbling at the hanging cartilage and sending jolts straight down Spock's body and eliciting all sorts of undignified noises. Kirk growled into Spock's ear, his breath hot and maddeningly arousing as he spoke. "First day we met. Too infuriating not to want you."

On impulse Spock's hand went out, grasped for something and found Kirk's hand. The connection happened without his intention, but when he found he could hear Kirk's mind, even in bursts, it hardly mattered. He could feel the blood pounding in Kirk's ears as it went southward, felt the wild dreams that always ended with them naked together, felt the earnest reality of his desire, which was more powerful than he could have ever imagined and more excited by the fact that he knew it was reciprocated. The understatement was that the entire thing brought Spock's erection back up almost instantaneously, though the work was half-done by now.

When Spock moved his hand and broke the connection, Kirk groaned. "Bastard. Why didn't you tell me?"

Spock shook his head furiously, dipping his head briefly to return some of Kirk's kissing. "You preferred women. We were rivals in academy for obvious reasons."

"'S what made you so damn attractive." One of Kirk's hands wound into Spock's hair, tugging at the border of painfully, while his mouth moved from Spock's ears to his shoulder. "Playing so hard to get."

"Have to keep playing," he panted. "I doubt I could keep myself together if I…oh, gods," he hissed, bucking slightly when Kirk suddenly changed course and sucked Spock's exposed nipple.

Kirk groaned too, but more intelligibly. "Jim. You have to call me Jim, especially if we—"

Spock tensed slightly. "Do you seriously want—?"

"What do you think?" They rolled over again, the blond landing on top. His hair was exceedingly mussed, something Spock was not aware of having done; those great blue eyes were staring straight down at him, seeming darker for all the fire and lust they contained. Their skin did not need to touch now for Spock to understand, if he had missed it earlier, how seriously Kirk—how seriously _Jim _wanted him to himself.

_Of all the times I could be nervous, _Spock thought, _this would have to be the worst._

Jim seemed to grasp what Spock was unwilling to say. The fire in his eyes dimmed somewhat, turned softer, more gentle. "I don't wanna make you, or anything," he murmured. "And we don't have to go all the way either. But you have to know that if you don't have me now, or if I don't have you now or something, I'm going to be begging you on the bridge, in the mess, absolutely everywhere you and I go until it happens, you gorgeous beast."

An emerald flush covered Spock's cheeks briefly before rushing downward and making his underwear even more uncomfortably tight around him. "Not all the way. Where do you propose we go?"

"Halfway. A third of the way, maybe." One of Jim's hands had abandoned the stability of the floor to caress Spock's torso, downward past his navel, hitching on the band of his briefs and tugging gently. Their eyes met briefly; Jim's had regained their fervor. "Do you want me to?"

Spock swallowed over the lump forming in his throat. "Promise me more."

"Everything I can give you," Kirk said earnestly, seizing Spock's lips in a furious kiss. "A relationship, sex, whatever you want from me. As soon as you want me."

"Yes," Spock replied thickly, pushing his briefs away as earnestly as he had pulled them on earlier, kicking them down around his ankles until he was utterly naked. "To all of it."

Jim made a half-growl, half-whimpering noise, then practically tore his underwear off and threw it far aside. Spock had to remind himself to breathe. He was completely correct, as always, in thinking that James Kirk was as perfectly formed as any man could come, regardless of McCoy's projected body image issues. They reached for each other at the same time, their hands landing at each other's hips rather than the obvious places. "You are absolutely perfect," Spock murmured. He let his hand ghost downward, caressing Jim's inner thigh. "You must know how perfect you are."

"Don't overinflate my ego," Jim replied, groaning a little. "Do that again."

Spock obeyed gladly, pleased at the twitches and low moans of approval his hands elicited. He kept doing it over and over, varying the pace, until Jim jerked his hand upward, onto his shaft, most certainly on purpose. Spock stroked very carefully, because a large part very selfishly wanted to see Jim come undone before he did. Apparently Jim wanted much the same thing, though, because in a moment his hand was massaging Spock's very hard and very exposed flesh, and the Vulcan let out a very undignified noise from sheer bliss.

They fell on their sides close together, never ceasing their movements and constantly trying to out-touch each other. When out-touching each other involved getting so close that their heads bumped together—both the ones north and south—they both groaned and hissed and arched with pleasure. When their free hands touched again the mind meld took over, and the combination of sensations turned Spock into an absolute writhing mess of need, to say nothing of how Jim was doing. And when Jim brought Spock's fingers to his lips and kissed at them, sucking each digit individually like a stick of candy, his tongue mirroring the movement of his hand, Spock came with a choked gasp, bucking into Jim's hand to prolong sensation even as Jim followed him over the brink with a soft hiss of breath, eyes screwed tight as they rode out the aftershock and ultimately collapsed, sweaty and slackened, onto the tile where they had begun.

They lay for a while in a static embrace, their hands touching only so much as to maintain the mental link. Jim was no longer thinking in words or even in pictorial phrases, but in colors and the illusion of temperatures. Spock marveled quietly at the rainbow symphony for a while, before realizing that the gentle peach color meant that Jim was laughing inwardly.

"What is it?" Spock asked with only the slightest hint of trepidation.

"Just…you." Kirk shifted on the tile, wrapping himself in Spock's arms and disconnecting their meld in the process. "This. God, I haven't come so fast since I was a teenager."

Spock's response was somewhat dry but not wholly serious. "I suspect that had more to do with the intensity of the mind meld than any of my actual skill."

Jim shook his head. "You know you're a liar."

"Vulcans cannot lie, Captain."

"Really, now? Then how did you manage to keep all this sexual frustration a secret from me, again?"

"That was less lying and more…concealment of certain facts. So I could keep my job, largely."

"Keep the job," Jim murmured. "I need you with me, you pointy-eared bastard." His lips pressed gently against Spock's shoulder; to his credit, Spock did not need to be melded to his captain to understand the weight of that gesture.

That did not stop him from making pithy remarks. "Solely for you to ogle me in too-tight swimsuits?"

Jim growled playfully. "Not just that. But if I hadn't gotten you here for that, we'd both be having one-handed dates tonight."

"I have no idea what you mean, Captain."

"Keep calling me by my rank and I'll be asking you to do it in bed. That'd be the best payback idea I've had all day." Jim chuckled, Spock guessed, to his own joke. That theory was repudiated when he caught the familiar blue eyes staring up at him, a devious grin plastered on his face.

"You have other ideas?" Spock asked, smiling despite himself. He allowed himself to think that, just for a moment, there would be some elegance to Jim's proposal, something romantic at its core.

"We should really, _really_ do it on the beach while we're on leave."

Spock shook his head, grin widening, and chose to say nothing. The warm, expansive sound of Jim's laughter bounded away from the bathroom walls moments later. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Well, mostly," he added.

"I shall consider the offer." But he squeezed Jim gently about the waist and kissed him again, and Jim laughed again and knew that Spock was only partly serious. There was no denying that the beach would be one of the best kinds of payback, second, of course, only to swim season.

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_Author's Note: Okay, you guys can all shoot me because I missed Spirk day last Sunday. Just pick up a halibut and slap me with it because I kinda deserve it. _

_I also didn't check with my lovely beta **Ladyofthe80s **on this one because really what happened was I was walking back from class at my uni and I started thinking "When's Spirk day?" and I looked it up and this is my kneejerk reaction to having missed it. I'm really, really sorry and just throw fish at me and enjoy my unedited smutty peace offering._

_XOXO, KW_


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